Always from port withheld, always distress'd— And, while the wings of Fancy still are free, K The ice was all around: It cracked and growled, and roared and howled, Like noises in a swound! 60 355 30 25 131 It perched for vespers nine; Whiles all the night, through fog-smoke white, "And the good south wind still blew behind, But no sweet bird did follow, Nor any day for food or play Came to the mariners' hollo! "And I had done a hellish thing, And it would work 'em woe: For all averred, I had killed the bird That made the breeze to blow. 'Ah wretch!' said they, the bird to siay, That made the breeze to blow!' 85 3 95 |